A spire carved from limestone and basalt twisted on high to the luminescent glow alighting the sky's darkness. Beneath its majesty, a young woman walked toward the embankment of a burbling river without once tearing her gaze from its blinding glare. Grass and gravel pricked at the soles of her feet but she did not wince with discomfort or lift her feet to pluck the debris from her skin. Instead, she stepped into the river's cool waters and let the waves wash away her hurts whilst lapping as her naked heels in question. 

The river's surface rippled softly, shimmering and sparkling as if a thousand stars were dashed across its waves and worn in adornment. Her fingertips dipped into the waves, and stirred along the currents as she drifted from the embankment and closer toward where the lights shone brightest. Gooseflesh rose from her bare arms, and the waves rocked high in a cradling embrace along her thighs, plastering the gossamer skirts tied at her waist against her skin. Pushing against the current and the water's insistence for her to draw back, she parted her lips and sang the melody stirring on her tongue. 

The glow brightened, and tears gathered in her eyes as she lifted her voice above the radiance's call. In return, a voice called out to her from within the light. A woman arose from within its radiance with her entire being shrouded by darkness. She reached down with open hands, her hair the ebony tresses blanketing the world in night and eyes the brilliance of stars. Her mouth parted but the words she sought to impart fell upon deaf ears. 

Eager, the young woman stepped forward and lifted her foot when her toes brushed against stone weathered by wind and rain into the flat elevation of a stair. Water dripped from her fingertips as she held her hand out to the radiant woman's, and let their palms envelop one another. 

Relief filled the woman's face, and though she had no true features to be seen, the young woman thought there was almost a smile in her twinkling eyes. Gently, their palms overlapped then slipped passed one another as the radiant woman wrapped her arms around the younger and lowered her mouth to her ear. The blinding light behind her seared the youth's eyes, but she urged them to remain open and pleading as she listened to the woman's whisperings.

"Listen—" A deep, murky forest burst into life before her eyes as a weeping woman clutched the stony hands of a moss-blanketed giant lying upon a bed of calluna.

"See—" Molten-gold flashed and flickered in wide arches streaking across the vastness of the sky, hurtling to the earth like stardust tossed by a careless hand. 

"Feel—" Her skin tingled, heart thumping loud over the hoof beating strides of a sleek black horse soaring over the land. Its rider reared her head back with a hastened cry, urging on to the horizon illuminated by a blue-silver tint.

"Awake."

"Lyra!"

She opened her eyes with a gasp, blinking away the water clinging to her eyelashes. Her muscles felt tightly wound and throbbed with warmth fanning out from her fingertips to the curve of her shoulders. With great care, she curled her hands into fists then let them fall emptily to her sides. Damps tracks charted the contours of her face as she brought her hand up to follow their paths, finding them synonymous to that of a tear. Had she been crying?

She pulled back her hand to study her glistening fingertips, then wipe the back of her hands against her eyelids to bring some measure of clarity to her vision. Gradually, the world eased into focus and she tipped her head back to stare unto the crystal. Its luminescence still sat brightly upon the spire, but the radiance was not as blinding as it'd been but a moment ago. Her heart plummeted into a bottomless pit as she searched the gentle glow for the woman's face, and the sound of her voice. Whispers of song, scraps born from the melody she'd sang, flubbed at each attempt to speak them. 

The weight of the moment's passing rested heavily upon her shoulders, as she wrapped her arms around her clamming skin and shuddered. Night's chill set in, tensing her back and sending shivers down her spine as the water pooled around her waist began to cool. All at once, the memory of someone calling for her sprang to mind and she turned to look over her shoulder and scour the surroundings for her caller. The search did not take long, when she found widening ripples approached across the river's surface as something — someone splashed gracelessly through the waves.

A man dressed in a set of heavy robes waded through the shallows with an almost single-minded desperation. She unwound her arms from herself when he stumbled, voice pitched in a cry. 

"Papa!" She gasped, hurrying off the stone steps. Water rose around her stomach and carried her along the current to where her father's attempt in meeting her met little progress. His attempts to beat back against the waves with wide sweeps of his arms did little more than fill his billowing sleeves with bucketfuls of water, and as she managed to close the distance between them - she noticed with startling dismay that he was without his spectacles as well. 

"Lyra, dear heart, where are you?" Her father cried, turning his head swift as a mad man until her hands enveloped his bearded chin. 

"I'm right here, Papa," She said softly, petting along his high cheekbones until his furrowed brow smoothed out. "What are you doing without your looking glasses?"

Water spilled out from his sleeve in a hefty downpour, drenching his hands as he reached up to cup his hand around hers. "Oh Lyra," he exhaled through his nose with a light pat of his little finger against her wrist. "The crystal's light woke me, an' before I could think 'f what to do, I was on my feet."

Lyra swallowed a sigh. Her father gave her wrist a squeeze out of apology but she shook off the gesture, and gathered her hand under his arm. "Come, I'll take you home," she said, ignoring the way his mouth fell open in protest. "Assuming you used the Sight to find me, you must be exhausted. What would Mama say if you were to faint again?"

Her father frowned, tucking his chin with a trembling sigh. Eventually, he gave a little nod and allowed himself to be led away. Lyra tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and pressed close to his side, taking measured steps along the river bed with her feet smoothing out paths in the dirt and gravel for the larger rocks half-buried in the earth. Her father was silent as she guided him through the breaks in the currents, slowing down when his steps threatened to stumble. Worrying him never set well within her heart, but a feather-brushed warmth touched her heart when she thought of how quickly he conceded to the mention of her mother. 

For some reason Lyra could not wholly understand, her father's stubbornness had precious few deterrents when compared to his wants. Without a proper reason, his indulgence in his desires could even prove to be fatal. Yet, the mere mention of her mother was enough to turn his head and divert his attention instantaneously. Love's power over logic was a mystery, even to a scholar.

Lyra meandered through the currents with her father in tow, humming curiously when they reached the grassy banks and he'd stopped walking entirely. His arm slipped from her grasp but before she could think to scold him for a second wind; his hands tucked beneath her arms and lifted her up onto the grass. Lyra blinked, sputtering a laugh when he hiked up his soaked robes and crawled up onto the embankment with a grunt. Fondness warmed her heart when he stood and offered a hand to her.

"Thank you, Papa," Lyra said, sliding her fingers into his palm. He helped her to her feet, then persisted in holding onto her hand with a tiny squeeze around her fingers. "I'm sorry for worrying you," she offered, unsure if the apology truly rung clear in her voice.

Her father grunted, then sighed. "Nor I you," he said, loosing his hold on her hand so that she could hold his arm once more. "With any hope, the kitchen hasn't burned with no one to attend it."

Lyra shook her head as she led him off into the trees. When the shadows draped over their heads, her father's arm tensed beneath her grip. She glanced up at him with concern, then tucked her head against his arm. Beneath the layers of cloth separating them, she felt the turmoil winding itself through his muscles and down to his very bones. An ethereal torrent, pulsating thickly with the rush of blood, pooled near his palms and the divot in his wrists. "After our last mishap," she whispered, gathering her aether into her fingers before pressing her nails into the sodden threads whilst she continued. "I left a charm to ward off any creative ideas from the ogien or curious children."  

Sparks seeped into the dampened cloth, drying and warming the clammy skin underneath. Mere seconds passing with minute changes in his posture as his shoulders pulled back and the line of his back straightened considerably. "You don't need to worry either; Damiano went off with your mother around noontide."

He laid his hand over hers, pressing his fingers against hers to stem the flow of her energy. She heard his inhale, quieter than the branches scratching against their siblings like mourners, rising and falling to the rustling through the leaves. Weeping zephyrs drifting overhead with their grief-stricken whines howling on the winds.  They carried deeper within the forest, and somewhere she knew her mother was weeping along with them. Yet, the ethereal woman within her vision had not shown her brother alongside. Puzzled as she was, Lyra realized she'd forgotten to speak and raised her head just enough to peer at his face. 

Dark eyes regarded her with intrigue, warming with a slight tiredness which made her want to embrace him tightly. "You don't seem surprised to know this, Lyra," he pointed out, thankfully allowing her to avert her eyes when she glanced aside. "Did your conversation with the Vestal bear fruit?"

Lyra sighed through her nose, trying to hide the annoyance stirring in her chest. "Not in the slightest," she said, grateful for the tree's parting as moonlight spilled over their heads. With the forest pressing in around her, and the trees watching her steps pleadingly, it was difficult not to feel ensnared. Her eyes closed, cheek resting against the coolness of her father's sleeve as parts of it stiffened whilst drying. "Aethelu suffers still, and we have aught to bring him but tears."

Her father hummed low, an attempt to comfort gone unspoken. "Has Aethelu asked for anything more?" He asked, and Lyra dragged her forehead against his sleeve in refusal. Again, he answered with a deeper thoughtful hum before draping his warm, calloused palm over her hand. "Then, perhaps our tears are offering enough, my daughter."

That gave Lyra pause, her heart seized and breath catching when she jerked away as if burned. Connected with her father's person by their intertwined hands, she could not move far but it was enough that their eyes could meet. He regarded her with a solemnity, mouth drawn in a grim line within the thickness of his stubbled beard. 

"Lyra," he sighed, regret languishing in each syllable as he tried to gather his thoughts then abandoned them with a shake of his head. "My dearest heart, grief is not only sadness in parting but thankfulness that a meeting had ever come to be."

Indignation welled in Lyra's chest. "But we must be able to do something. Why should we wait until he's asked for our assistance? After all he'd given us—"

"All the more reason we should respect his wishes," Her father stated, frown deepening. Lyra took another step forward, sighing through her mouth until the tug between their connected hands pulled her to a halt. She glanced over her shoulder, realizing that he'd stopped walking and was simply staring at her. She frowned, turning to face him in return.

Silence hung between them as his words lingered over their heads. Lyra tried to give thought to something else, hoping beyond hope that her father would relent in his concerns and let her be. But the longer she lingered there; her skin chafed with the cold tackiness of water, and shifting away from where the tall grass brushing against her calves, the more she thought.

In her mind, she could see the stone guardian pillowed on a bed of evergreen with flowers laid along the rigid planes of his body with care. Sharp-witted and incisive eyes carved within a smooth face had dulled with time, ringed by moss and lichen. She swallowed hard at the thought of them and how they would no longer see her truly. Fear tightened her chest, constricting around her throat until she gasped with a wheeze. A warm touch enveloped her shoulder, and she turned her eyes up to meet her father's.

Lyra swallowed bitterly, shaking her head with dismissal. She tucked her chin against her chest and shuddered against the enormity of her helplessness. "What of mother?" She asked in a whisper, pressing her head to her father's chest. "And Damiano, he's yet to even know of the stories. Who will tell him?"

Her father's chest brimmed with breath before waning as he spoke quietly, "The ones who are left behind, my daughter."

Her hand slipped from his elbow, falling to her side while he wrapped her up in a tight embrace. Lyra turned her head against him until her cheek rested comfortably over his chest, feeling the sticky warmth radiating from beneath the saturated robes. His fingers combed through her hair, soothing whispers buried against her scalp as she peered over his shoulder high above to where the crystal shined over the treetops.

When Lyra had gathered herself at last, she allowed her father to steer her northward. The path ahead of them was not paved, but opened into a field of wildflowers surrounding a cottage crafted with walls of sun-dried bricks. Warmed from a day beneath the sweltering sun, the bricks shone beneath the moonlight with a golden tinge. A thin trail of smoke rose from an opening in the roof, disappearing as it billowed up into the night sky. 

The round thatched roof covered in straw resembled an upturned basket, surrounded on its sides by corked bottles hanging from thick cords. Her heart warmed at the sight of them, swaying to and fro with the breeze's turn. Their musical clinks were bell-like chimes, and the lights fluttering within reminded her of the candle flys on moonless nights. 

Her father also seemed at ease at the familiar sight of their home, taking the lead when they reached the dilapidated stone gate. It was little more than a pair of stone walls whittled down on both sides until all that remained were two stout obelisk adorned with wooden talisman wreathed around their tapered heads. Lyra followed behind her father, following suit when he brushed his fingertips against the tags. The wood gave a shudder, warming under her fingertips and as she stepped past the obelisks, a cacophony of sounds practically burst into existence.